


the story is this

by delightwrites



Series: nonsensical stories of a humble bard and his witcher [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Mutual Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump, as in they are soft for each other, because Geralt is an idiot who's pining two ways without realising it, between s1 ep5 and s1 ep6, but why would you, only in chapter 2, you could read this as solely platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightwrites/pseuds/delightwrites
Summary: Geralt always insisted they were not friends. But he had to admit, they had known one another for many years now, nearing a decade. Long time for a witcher, even longer for a human.Certainly long enough time for Geralt to be known not as the Butcher of Blaviken at most places, but as the White Wolf. And perhaps long enough time for him to start thinking of Jaskier not as his travelling companion, but as his friend.-In which songs are sung and monsters are fought, some truths are spoken and others remain unsaid. Moments of Geralt and Jaskier realising things about their friendship
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: nonsensical stories of a humble bard and his witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659697
Comments: 28
Kudos: 408





	1. how is that just?

**Author's Note:**

> they are soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which geralt - surprisingly - initiates a conversation

“Jaskier, we need to talk,” Geralt grumbled, interrupting the bard’s ongoing chatter.

“Oh sure!” the other said, his eyes growing wide with curiousity and Geralt immediately regretted his choice to bring this matter up right now. “About what?”

“About the djinn.”

“Oh,” Jaskier sounded a bit disappointed but kept his curious tone. “Well, what about it?”

“Its master,” Geralt started, slowly, “it wasn’t you, it was me. I had the wishes.”

The bard stopped abruptly, staring at him with a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

Geralt stopped too, since it was obvious that Jaskier had planted himself to the spot and would not move until he got a proper explanation. And Geralt knew he wasn’t going to like the one he was about to give him.

“Djinns take your wishes, even the ones you don’t mean, and twist them into something else. They make them come true, but in the cruelest way imaginable.”

“What?” Jaskier breathed. He was starting to grasp what Geralt meant. He started to understand where the conversation was going and the witcher could see he was scared by it. “Geralt? What does that mean?”

Geralt sighed.

“It means it was me,” he said in low voice. “I made a wish first. I wished for some peace and quiet. I wished… for you to shut up.”

The confusion cleared from Jaskier’s eyes, giving way to pain and leftover fear from the time he was frightened he was going to die. He raised his hand to his neck instinctively, rubbing it where the djinn’s magic had attacked him. Geralt had caught him doing that several times since it happened, when the bard thought he wasn’t looking - even in his sleep. Witchers barely ever had nightmares, but humans did.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said and he meant it.

-

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said and that was surprising. And something in his voice, or perhaps in his eyes, told Jaskier it was genuine.

Which was even more surprising. Or it would have been, if Jaskier had believed the myths about witchers not having feelings. Which he did not, firstly beacause it was bullshit, everybody had feelings and secondly because Jaskier liked to think he knew Geralt and Geralt most certainly did have feelings. Annoyance, at the least, the effects of which the bard had experienced firsthand, several times, especially when he himself had been the cause.

But he’d always been sure it went deeper than that. And there it was. Remorse. Worry. Guilt. He could hear them in Geralt’s voice.

Geralt _cared_.

In any other case, Jaskier would have rubbed it in the witcher’s face already, mostly because seeing his expression would have been worth even the risk of getting punched, and Jaskier had been getting better at dodging punches anyway.

But now he began to realise that what he heard didn’t only mean Geralt cared. It meant Geralt cared about _him_. And that was… wow, that was-

He was only vaguely aware that he was staring at Geralt and that the witcher was waiting for an answer. Jaskier didn’t have one. He was very rarely at loss for words but this time was quite the exception.

-

Geralt was starting to think something was wrong with Jaskier. The bard could never keep his mouth shut for so long but now he just stared at him wordlessly, obviously deep in thought. It certainly was… alarming.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed with frustration.

The other blinked, Geralt calling his name seemingly snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry, Geralt,” he said, putting on a cheerful expression. Geralt could sense the ease in his voice was forced, whatever caused him to trail off clearly not leaving his thoughts just yet. “What is it that you were saying?”

“I said I was sorry,” the witcher growled.

“Oh, right, you were! That’s alright, Geralt, I forgive you,” Jaskier shrugged.

Geralt didn’t say anything. He’d expected the bard to be angry, to announce that he wouldn’t be travelling with Geralt from the next town, that he wouldn’t sing about him anymore. Though it would have been weird, given how used to Jaskier’s presence (and singing) Geralt had become, he could have certainly lived with it.

He didn’t expect Jaskier to just shrug and say he forgives him. But Jaskier could always surprise him, in that annoying way of his.

“Were you perhaps expecting another answer, o mighty Geralt of Rivia?” The bard asked teasingly. Not waiting for an answer, he took his lute from his shoulder and strummed it.

“Friends forgive each other, you know,” he added with a smile before treading forward, playing a tune Geralt hadn’t heard before - a new song, just being composed, perhaps.

“We’re not-” Geralt started to protest. He gave up, seeing the bard wouldn’t be paying him much attention while he was so absorbed in his own music, and settled for an annoyed grunt. He followed him, leading Roach and he thought about the words Jaskier said. Geralt was never one for words and he always thought for a long time before he said them himself. Jaskier was nothing like that, rambling all over the place, but occassionally he said things that had Geralt thinking for hours on end. This was one of them.

Jaskier had called Geralt his friend right after they met for the first time. The witcher had assumed that it was just one of those irritating things Jaskier did, referring to everyone as his friends. It took him long to realise that the bard _actually, genuinely, honest to the gods_ considered him his best friend - his own words, from the time he had one drink too many and Geralt had to drag him up to his room.

Geralt always insisted they were not friends. But he had to admit, they had known one another for many years now, nearing a decade. Long time for a witcher, even longer for a human.

Certainly long enough time for Geralt to be known not as the Butcher of Blaviken, but as the White Wolf at most places. And perhaps long enough time for him to start thinking of Jaskier not as his travelling companion, but as his friend.

The bard went ahead, trying out bits and pieces of his new song, lost in his own thoughts as well. The wind carried his playing, his soft humming. Geralt sighed. Silence was an extremely rare occurance while travelling with Jaskier, but peace? That happened, from time to time.


	2. when the white wolf fought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which jaskier takes to desperate measures and geralt worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw blood for this chapter
> 
> -
> 
> also i did zero (0) fact-checking for this fic and it shows. i'm sorry

The first of the beasts collapsed on the ground and Geralt already jumped to take care of the other two.

Jaskier backed away from the fight, clutching his lute close. He should have listened to Geralt and stayed back this time, but then how would he write a song if the witcher’s battle with the monsters turned out to be especially heroic?

Well, so far, it was just messy. It’s not that he was unused to the mess, no, but Jaskier liked to stay out of fights as much as he could. He was no fighter after all. Okay, Geralt had tried to show him at least a few tricks he could do with a knife to defend himself, but that was only useful against humans. Also Jaskier had lost that knife somewhere a while ago and hadn’t gathered his courage to tell Geralt just yet.

Fuck, he didn’t even know what kind of monsters these three were! He hadn’t really been paying attention when Geralt agreed with the local noblewoman, being rather preoccupied by stealing glances of one of the lady’s escorts.

He did start paying attention when one of the beasts had attacked him and Geralt on the mountain path and the witcher showed him behind his back, away from danger, already drawing his sword.

Geralt was kept rather busy with the remaining two monsters at the moment. He got crammed between them and the rock wall behind his back and that was when Jaskier noticed it.

The monster that had gone down first. It wasn’t dead.

It got up, staggering, wounded, but very much alive. And heading for Geralt.

“Ge-Geralt!” Jaskier called out. The witcher didn’t hear him. Or if he did, he couldn’t afford to pay attention to the bard right now. He was still fighting two monsters at once.

Jaskier tried again.

Geralt still didn’t hear him. And he didn’t see the third beast getting closer either.

Jaskier was desperate now and desperate people come up with desperate ideas. He jumped close to the monster and striked down on its head with his only weapon. His lute. He could hear the wood crack and the strings cry out and he tried not to think about his own heart breaking just a little.

He didn’t have much time to think about it after that.

The beast turned around and growled. It struck down with its enormous hand and the remains of Jaskier's lute hit the ground a few feet away. The monster looked him in the eyes and the fury radiating from that look had the bard shaking.

“Oh shit,” said Jaskier rather cleverly.

The beast growled again and moved closer to him.

“Oh shit,” Jaskier said once more, backing away. And then, “GERALT!”

No answer came.

Right, he was busy dealing with the other two monsters. Jaskier gulped. He knew he didn’t have many options left then. He turned on his heels and ran, an angry monster sprinting after him.

-

Geralt sliced with his sword and the last monster’s head fell to the ground with a loud thud. The witcher leaned on the wall of rock behind him for support, beginning to feel a stinging pain in his left leg. He gave himself a second, trying to catch his breath and glanced at the two corpses by his feet.

Wait. There had been three monsters. And the one Geralt had defeated first was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Jaskier.

He called his name but the bard didn’t answer. His lute lay on the ground, broken.

“Fuck,” growled Geralt, scraping up his bag and the remains of Jaskier’s lute from the ground. It was still in one piece and hopefully not beyond repair.

He followed the scents leading him away, deeper into the maze-like paths on the mountain, until he found the third beast. It was circling around a rift on the wall of stone, sniffing constantly, a hunter waiting for its prey to come out of its hiding place. But it was limping, obviously weakened by its injuries so when Geralt drew his sword and the monster noticed, facing him with a menacing growl, it met its end soon enough.

There was a sound of slight stirring and, to Geralt’s relief, it wasn’t another monster, just Jaskier crawling out of the rift. Geralt had only a second to wonder how he’d even fit in such a narrow space in the first place before he noticed all the blood.

“Oh, thank fuck, Geralt,” the bard mumbled. He took an unsteady step towards the witcher before swaying on his feet. Geralt caught him, ignoring the pain in his own leg. Jaskier couldn’t hold himself up so Geralt slowly sank to the ground with him, trying to get a better look at his injuries.

There were claw marks on the bard’s shoulder, tears in his soft silk clothes, paralell lines. Geralt didn’t worry about them particularly, cleared and patched up they would heal well, though they would leave scars not unlike some of Geralt’s own. His head, that looked far more concerning.

Jaskier’s hair was dampened by the dark red blood still sweeping from the gash on his head. The blood covered his right ear and the side of his face, running down all the way to his neck, a striking contrast to the pale, ash-like colour of his face. His eyes were hazy with pain and confusion and he looked at the witcher as if he couldn’t quite see him. Geralt couldn’t exactly tell how bad his injury was, only that it looked really _fucking_ bad to him.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, harsher than intended and he told himself it wasn’t because he was worried about the bard. “Your head and your shoulder I can see, but anywhere else?”

“No,” Jaskier said so quietly Geralt was sure it was only thanks to his witcher senses that he heard it at all. _Jaskier_ and _quiet_ didn’t usually go together and Geralt knew this couldn’t mean any good. He grunted.

“We have to get back to the village,” he said, preparing to stand up but was stopped by Jaskier raising a shaking hand, his fingers twitching in search of something to hold onto. They found Geralt’s hand. And through the bard’s hazy eyes, he looked just as scared and lost as he had in Rinde, clutching at his own throat, dying, while Geralt had watched helplessly. And he seemed so soft, so frail in his arms… that Geralt didn’t pull his hand away.

“Where… ” Jaskier barely managed to get out a word, “m-my lute… where… ”

“It’s here,” said Geralt. “What’s left of it.”

And if he had seen tears gather in the corner of Jaskier’s eyes and sighed and held his friend a bit more tightly, squeezing his hand gently… well, no one else was there to see it.

-

Jaskier woke up with a throbbing headache.

“Ow, fuck,” he mumbled. He couldn’t open his eyes so instead he reached up to the side of his head. He had been bleeding, hadn’t he?

His fingers didn’t come away dripping with blood. There was a bandage wrapped tightly but gently around his forehead. Jaskier opened his eyes, slowly, carefully.

He was in a room. It was still dark, but some light of dawn was already sweeping trough the window. Jaskier stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his own confused thoughts and hazy memories of what happened in the mountains. If only his head didn’t hurt so much.

He had run from the monster, right? He was sure he had. But then it must have caught up with him and then, he wasn’t sure how but he had hit his head. And it’d hurt and he’d started bleeding and he panicked but then-

Geralt.

He had come to save his ass but Jaskier didn’t quite remember much more than that. There were faint memories of the witcher holding him as he lay on the ground, bleeding and hurting but feeling safe now that Geralt was there. And also of him holding onto Geralt’s hand, of the witcher calling for a doctor or a mage in the village because _his friend_ wasn’t well. Jaskier smiled, despite himself, because wasn’t his imagination great? Surely none of those things had happened, though some part of the bard wished they had.

Jaskier struggled up to his elbows. Or he would have, if a sudden pain hadn’t appeared in his left shoulder. He fell back to the bed with a cry on his lips, grabbing his shoulder with his other hand. There was bandage there too, and beneath it, stinging pain. Jaskier cursed at the ceiling.

There was a sound of stirring and Jaskier only now realised he wasn’t alone in the room. A quiet, slow breathing. Oh, he knew this sound.

The bard shifted to his side, more mindful of his injured shoulder this time. Next to his bed, sitting on a chair that looked ridiculously small and uncomfortable for him, was Geralt. He was asleep, his head rolled to the side, with strands of white hair falling into his face and he almost looked _peaceful_. He’d got rid of his armour and all the blood and gore that had covered him. There was a bandage on his leg, and Jaskier thought about the witcher carrying him all the way down back to the village with an injury like that. He gulped.

Then he saw something, something he hadn’t noticed he was missing. His lute. Or what was left of it.

It was in Geralt’s lap, the witcher’s hand left resting on top of it as he slept.

A strange feeling clutched at Jaskier’s heart. He smiled and even he couldn’t tell if it was a sad smile or a happy one.


	3. a friend of humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a quick visit to a town goes very very wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i felt so bad writing this chapter

“Come on, Geralt, we’re almost there!” Jaskier seemed to be even louder than usual. Geralt hadn’t known that was possible but here the bard was, proving him wrong once again.

He’d been incredibly chatty since breaking his lute in a fight with the three monsters from the last village. That, in itself, was not unusual but really, he’d been _constantly_ babbling in the past few days. Geralt supposed it was because of not having anything to play on.

Jaskier would sometimes hum to himself or sing, and the witcher had heard him tapping new rythms with his fingers on any available surface, like the remains of his lute, his own thighs, Roach’s side and even on Geralt’s shoulder one time when they’d stopped to camp for the night. But the bard couldn’t work on his new songs properly without his lute, which caused him to just talk and talk constantly to distract himself. Which, in turn, caused Geralt to agree when Jaskier proposed they could _pop into this one town_ , as he knew a man there who could repair his broken instrument.

“Finally, finally!” exclaimed Jaskier as they approached the town’s gates. He marched in front of Geralt and Roach, not behind them like he usually did, practically radiating from excitement and anticipation. “Pretty big town, isn’t it, Geralt? Must have some busy inns, we will need to check them out, I bet we’ll find good audience, just waiting for me to absolutely mesmerize them with my performance! Hah! Just wait until my precious lute is repaired and we will be showered in coin!”

It occured to Geralt that he had no idea how the bard had managed to break his lute in the first place, as he hadn’t told him that. Which was curious, since Jaskier always shared everything that came to his mind.

“How did you do it, anyway?” he asked the bard.

“Do what?” Jaskier asked casually and looked back over his shoulder.

“Breaking your lute. You whined for a good half day about it being broken but you didn’t tell me how it happened.”

“It was just an accident,” Jaskier shrugged. But Geralt noticed how his voice wavered and how he clinged to his broken lute a bit tighter.

“Hm?”

The other’s steps had slowed down enough for Geralt to walk beside him now.

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier gestured widely, giving in to Geralt’s unspoken pressing on the matter. “If you must know, I smashed it on that damn monster’s head. But only because it was getting awful close to you! And you didn’t hear me!”

Geralt knew he let his guard down for a second, let a puzzled expression sit out on his face.

“I know what you want to say,” Jaskier said more quietly and maybe with a hint of shame in his voice upon seeing the look on the witcher’s face. “That it was stupid and you could have handled yourself, I know, I know but I panicked!” He shrugged self-consciously.

Geralt furrowed his brows. It sounded very much like the bard had ruined his beloved instrument, his gift from Filavandrel, to help _him_. Which - Jaskier was right - was stupid. Geralt would have handled the third monster all right. And Jaskier hadn’t only broken his lute, but ended up gettinghurtas well. Hurt, trying to help Geralt, to defend him. It was _fucking_ stupid, it was one of the stupidest things Jaskier had ever done and that said something. And Geralt hadn’t asked him to risk his life for him. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need to be helped or defended. He didn’t need anyone.

And yet, here they were. A bard who broke his own lute and a witcher who didn’t need anyone - or at least that’s what he usually told himself, even if he believed it less and less.

“Hmm,” Geralt said and he meant _thank you_.

-

Jaskier’s pondering on the meaning of Geralt’s latest _hmm_ was disturbed by the suspicious glances the townsfolk were shooting at the two of them.

Yes, it’d got better in the past years - in a big part thanks to Jaskier’s songs - but change didn’t happen at the same pace everywhere and there were still stares, there were still whispers. Silent enough that Jaskier couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but the people around them didn’t really make efforts to hide the fear and disgust in their eyes either. The bard glanced at Geralt carefully. He knew the witcher’s hearing was much better, so he must have heard them. But the expression on his face was unreadable.

They were greeted by the man who seemed to be the local judge. Except _greeted_ might not have been the most accurate word to describe it.

“Your kind’s not welcome here, witcher,” he snarled and a strange feeling sank in Jaskier’s stomach.

Geralt narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. Jaskier gulped and stepped forward.

“Good thing we’re not staying long then,” he said nonchalantly and marched on to find the luthier’s shop.

Geralt and Roach followed him and the people cleared off from the streets. Jaskier found what he was looking for quickly. They were both invited in the shop, its owner seemingly unfazed by the presence of a witcher and Jaskier let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“This is quite the damage,” hummed the luthier after examining Jaskier’s instrument. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to buy a new lute instead?”

“Gods, no!” Jaskier exclaimed. “This one was a gift from the Elven King! Filavandrel himself!”

“Tell him, Geralt!” he added when the shopkeeper raised a skeptical brow.

A quiet growl from the other side of the room where Geralt was leaning against a shelf indicated that he didn’t practically care whether the luthier believed Jaskier’s claims or not.

“I’d like it repaired, if possible,” the bard huffed, his frustration directed more at the witcher than the man behind the counter.

The shopkeeper reassured Jaskier and asked him to come back tomorrow morning. They agreed on the payment and the bard’s initial excitement of having his precious lute fixed and being able to play again was beginning to return.

As a result, he looked hopefully into the future and was certain he could put all his abilities of persuasion to good use to find themselves an inn for the night.

It was harder than he’d thought. They spent the rest of the afternoon looking for a place that would allow them to stay and found _nothing_. Geralt had told Jaskier to rent a room for himself at least, but the bard refused. They ended up spending the night in an alleyway and it was worse than sleeping out there, in the wilderness, where they could set up a little camp and light a fire.

In the morning they went back to the shop. Geralt wanted to stay outside and get Roach ready for the road ahead of them while Jaskier was in. The bard nodded, knowing Geralt wanted to leave the town as soon as possible. And honestly, he didn’t blame him.

The luthier was finishing the last of his repairs while explaining the ones he had to do already when Jaskier noticed the growing crowd outside the shop. He leaned just a bit to the side so he could peek through the window.

The town’s judge approached the outside of the shop where Geralt was waiting with Roach.

“I told you, witcher, your kind is not welcome here.” His threatening voice could be heard from inside the shop. He said _witcher_ like he was spitting out venom. “What do you want in this town?”

“My friend has business here,” Geralt said calmly and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. “Once it’s done, we leave.”

“Leave now!” Someone from the crowd shouted and there was no stopping them after that.

“Yes!”

“Get out of here!”

“If anyone calls you his friend, then he’s not welcome here either!”

“Mutant!”

“We don’t need monsters like you here!”

Somewhere among the crowd was Geralt’s voice, agreeing, saying he was going to leave anyway, but it seemed nobody heard him. The shouting got louder and louder, the voices mixing together and Jaskier could barely make out what they were saying. He grabbed his lute, tearing it out from the luthier’s hands.

“Bu-but, sir,” the man stammered. “It’s not tuned in yet!”

“I’ll do that myself, thank you,” Jaskier rushed to the door, throwing the payment on the counter. “Thank you!”

Seeing the crowd gathered outside knocked all breath out of Jaskier’s lungs. They were many, and they were loud and gods, they were furious. It wasn’t the first time he saw Geralt getting chased out of a town but it rarely ever got _this_ bad.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jaskier yelled without any idea what he was going to say next. But he had to try. “Come on, people, how does the song go? _He’s a friend of humanity, so_ -”

He stopped his singing abruptly when he saw Geralt riding away, the crowd opening in fear of him but not for one second getting any quieter.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out, his voice lost in the shouting. He strapped his lute on his shoulder and began fighting his way through the crowd.

-

Geralt waited.

It crossed his mind that he didn’t actually _have to_ wait, that he could ride off and continue his journey without Jaskier. It wasn’t the first time he thought of this. In fact, in the early weeks after the bard attached himself to him, there had been several times when he’d very nearly gone through with it.

This time, it was but a fleeting thought, it didn’t even linger in his mind for more than a heartbeat.

So Geralt waited, just after the first turn of the road leading east from the town, and hoped. Hoped that his bard would follow him, as he always had.

He would, Geralt told himself. Jaskier wouldn’t change his mind about him, wouldn’t suddenly start looking at him like a monster. Jaskier was many things, stubborn definitely among them. If he settled on something, nothing would ever change his mind and he’d seemed to have settled on the idea that Geralt wasn’t a monster to be feared but _his friend_ , right from their first meeting.

Also, Geralt had heard him. Nearly drowned in all the shouting, among all the hurtful names they’d thrown at him, there’d been a voice calling his name. Jaskier’s voice.

So Geralt waited. But he didn’t have to wait for long.

The sound of rushing footsteps and ragged breath came first, followed by Jaskier appearing in the turn. With the strap of his lute on his shoulder and a certain redness on his face, he broke into a relieved smile as he saw Geralt.

“Ah, there you are,” he said and his voice sounded hoarse from shouting. He stopped in front of Roach and bent over, resting his hands on his knees for support. “You know, Geralt, when you said you’d rather wait for me outside, I thought you meant outside the shop and not outside the town!”

“Thought it was best to leave,” Geralt said in a low voice. He didn’t want this town to become another Blaviken.

Jaskier straightened up. He sighed and nodded understandingly, then patted Roach’s side, signaling that he’d managed to catch his breath and was ready to go on. Geralt prodded his horse, grateful they could leave the place behind.

“Well, leaving really was the smart decision,” Jaskier spoke after a few moments of silence. “But I’m glad you decided not to leave without your friend.”

He grinned at Geralt, who only grunted in response. The bard’s smile grew even wider.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed you deliberately _not_ correcting me whenever I say we’re friends,” he said, his tone cheerful. “That’s progress, I’d say.”

“ _A friend of humanity_ ,” Geralt huffed. Just another thing in Jaskier’s songs that wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. Humanity wasn’t Geralt’s friend and no matter how many stupid songs were sung, it’d never be.

The smile vanished from Jaskier’s face. When he spoke, his tone was unexpectedly soft. “You know, they are wrong. The lot of them. And all those things they say… that’s all bullshit. They’re full of bullshit and-”

“Jaskier, it doesn’t matter,” Geralt interrupted. He really didn’t feel like having this conversation. Honestly, he just wanted a bit of silence. Or peace. Peace will do.

“How’s the lute?” he asked and watched Jaskier’s eyes light up. The bard fished his precious instrument from his shoulder. He examined it with such enthusiasm that Geralt realised he mustn’t have got a good look on it before running after him.

“Oh, she’s a beauty! As good as new!”

Jaskier strummed the lute and winced at the sound the strings made.

“Oh right, forgot,” he mumbled and began tuning it in.

Geralt slowed Roach down so Jaskier could keep up while working on his lute, too distracted to walk at their usual pace.

“That _friend of humanity_ part,” Jaskier started after a few minutes, seemingly still focused on his instrument but with a seriousness in his voice. “It may have been a lyrical exagerration… I mean, obviously not all of humanity… but you’re my friend, Geralt, for a start.”

Geralt looked at him, feeling a warm sensation move in his chest.

“And don’t try to deny it, I am your friend too!” the bard added cheekily and Geralt finally had an excuse to grunt in annoyance. Then Jaskier began testing out his lute and singing his songs, following Geralt like he always had and the warm feeling in the witcher’s chest settled, as if it wasn’t about to leave anytime soon.


	4. the path i must trudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which jaskier is cold

It was cold. It was so _fucking_ cold.

Geralt didn’t seem to be bothered by it as much but Jaskier was _human_ , thank you very much, and he was very very bothered by the cold. Especially since it had been two whole days since they’d left the last village, with its charming, comfortable, _warm_ inn and its fireplaces and hot baths and the town they were heading for still promised to be far away.

He tried to get his thoughts away from just how _damn_ cold he was by busying himself with that new song he’d been working on. Except his fingers were hurting when he tried to as much as strum his lute and the ink he carried for writing down notes and lyrics had frozen in its glass.

So he settled on a different kind of distraction.

“You know, Geralt, I think we really should have stayed there, that village was so lovely anyway, and maybe, I don’t know, waited a bit,” he chattered to the witcher, shifting closer to the fire Geralt had set in the cave where they were at least a bit protected from the snowstorm outside that just seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“It’s not like we could have stayed there until spring, Jaskier,” Geralt said in a flat voice.

“I know, I know, but still… ” he trailed off, because Geralt had a point. Then he found another way to approach the issue. “I’m going to catch a cold out here! What about my voice then? What about my singing?”

Geralt hummed, clearly unimpressed by the bard’s complaining.

“We’ll survive without it,” he said and _gods damn you, Geralt of Rivia, was that a joke?_ Maybe he wasn’t completely hopeless after all.

Still, it reminded Jaskier of a comment from earlier and that had stung a bit.

“Oh no, not this again! Don’t say anything, Geralt, I know what you think of my singing!” The bard stuck his chin out stubbornly. “Like a pie with no filling, _my ass_! Tell that to the villagers who gave you all that coin because of _my_ song!”

“You know that’s not really what I think, right?” Geralt was focused on stoking the fire but there was a certain softness in the his voice and Jaskier didn’t quite know what to make of that.

He stared at the other man. He’d found himself staring at Geralt more and more often - noticing how a strand of the witcher’s white hair was loose or, like right now, how the light of the fire reflected in his amber eyes - and he didn’t quite know what to make of that either.

Geralt looked up at him and Jaskier caught away his gaze. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his blanket.

“What do you think of it then?” he blurted out.

Geralt didn’t answer him immediately. He turned his eyes back to the fire and pursed his lips, as if he was thinking back to every time he’d heard Jaskier sing.

“It’s… ” he started at last and the bard perched up his head in expectation, “not bad.”

And hearing Geralt say that, it was a personal victory for Jaskier. Honestly.

“Why, thank you, Geralt,” the bard beamed and even if his voice was a bit sarcastic, he knew his expression gave his joy away. “Have I told you today that you’re my favourite and also very best friend?”

Because Jaskier was like that. He wore his heart on his sleeves and he spoke what was on his mind and when he liked something - being it a field of flowers or a particularly fine wine or the company of a quiet, broody witcher - he said it.

Also because the bard thought it amusing to see Geralt embarassed. Jaskier calling him his friend always seemed to catch him by surprise, no matter how many times he’d done it before. As if he couldn’t really believe the bard would think of him as such. Jaskier didn’t know who started the myth that witchers didn’t have feelings but he was sure that the person hadn’t spent years and years in the company of one. Because there, only in that split second, before Geralt hummed or grunted and it vanished, there it was in his amber eyes, that shock and that doubt and something else, something that Jaskier liked to think of as fondness.

He laughed and forgot about the cold for a while.

-

The storm was long over and they’d been fighting their way through the heavy snow all day. The town - their destination - wasn’t far away now, Geralt was sure. He was well used to the wilderness, and even to nights spent outside in the winter but he still looked forward to having a roof over his head again as much as his travelling companions. It’d be nice for Roach to stay in a dry and warm stable at last and for Jaskier… no doubt the bard would break into a song of joy as soon as they stepped foot in the town’s inn if he wasn’t too tired for it.

Apparently he was. Geralt forgot just how hard the cold could take its toll on a human. He did that sometimes, it had been long since he himself was human and they’d never spent much time in his company since then. Well, with a few exceptions. Geralt found himself pulling the corner of his mouth into a smile, a thing that had happened very rarely in the past but was becoming more and more common since first Jaskier and then Yennefer had walked into his life.

It occured to him that the bard had ceased his constant complaining a while ago. Before, he’d been insisting on going back to the village. Then he wanted to turn back and find the cave that had given them shelter. But he’d been quiet for some time so Geralt glanced back at him.

“Still there, bard?”

Jaskier stopped in his otherwise slow steps. Geralt had been walking too, leading Roach, but he’d adjusted his pace to match the other’s. Jaskier still had his blanket wrapped around his shoulder but it didn’t seem to be helping a lot with his shivering.

“Ye-yeah, I am, of co-course I am.” The witcher could hear the chattering of his teeth as he spoke. “Though, what’d you say Ge-Geralt, could we t-take a little, ju-just a t-tiny little break?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh, that’s good, tha-that’s good,” Jaskier sighed with relief. “B-Because I d-don’t think I can walk m-much longer.”

Geralt hummed. That didn’t sound like the usual complaining he had to put up with in the past few days. It sounded serious and judging by how Jaskier was barely holding himself up straight, it seemed to be true as well.

“Come here,” Geralt grunted eventually.

Jaskier obeyed, though his steps were painfully slow. Geralt took his own blanket from the saddle and wrapped it around the bard’s shoulder. He pulled it tight around himself and shot the witcher a grateful look.

“Up,” Geralt said.

“Up?” Jaskier looked at him dumbfounded.

“Yes, up. Up on the horse, Jaskier, please tell me you are not this stupid.”

“No-no, just,” the bard shook his head. “I’m never allowed t-to ride Roach. Except, I think, except when I was dying.”

He stopped, then looked at Geralt with widening eyes.

“F-Fuck, Geralt, am I dying?”

“You are not.” Geralt rolled his eyes. Jaskier always made a fuss of things. And seriously, did he think Geralt would be wasting time here if he really _was_ dying? “But you are slowing us down like this and I want to reach the town by nightfall. And I think you do too.”

Jaskier nodded. Then he attempted to climb up on Roach’s back but in the end Geralt had to help him. He got on too, behind him. They barely fit like this and it definitely wasn’t the most comfortable but Geralt reasoned this was the best way to keep Jaskier warm. Even if witchers were usually somewhat colder than humans, his body heat still had to count for something.

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured and Geralt was grateful to be sitting behind him because he caught himself smiling again and he would never hear the end of it if the bard saw his face at that moment.

They rode and Jaskier kept quiet. Geralt had always liked quiet but now it felt wrong, somehow.

“Jaskier?” he asked softly.

“Hm?” The bard shifted his position slightly, resting the back of his head against Geralt’s shoulder now. His voice was sleepy as he spoke. “Jus’ taking a little nap. Wake me up when we arrive, would you?”

“You can’t sleep now, Jaskier,” Geralt said. “I know you are tired but you’ve got to stay awake.”

Jaskier didn’t answer.

“Do you hear me?” Geralt shook his shoulder a little. “Talk to me. Or sing, for all I care, just stay awake until we reach the town.”

After a long silence, Jaskier finally spoke.

“I’m working on a new song. A love song, it’s going to be. It’ll be great, you’ll see, and it’ll bring people to tears. Ill-starred, lovesick fools will sing it to themselves accross the kingdoms to soothe the aching of their hearts.”

Geralt hummed. Even with the fancy wording, he understood the statement behind the bard’s words. Because that’s what Jaskier wanted with his songs, to soothe the aching of hearts. To make people happier.

Of course, he wanted to earn his coin with them too. But, sort of like Geralt, he wanted to help people. It was one of the reasons Geralt didn’t mind Jaskier sticking around in the beginning, even in the face of the countless reasons he would have liked him to leave.

“Do you miss her?”

The question caught Geralt by surprise for a second. He didn’t need to ask Jaskier who it was about, though.

“I… yes,” he answered honestly. Yennefer came and went, in and out of his life as she pleased or as whatever business she had took her. Geralt missed her when she was gone and he thought about following her, but she always left early and without a trace. “It’s… complicated.”

Jaskier just nodded.

“It always is,” he said softly. Geralt would have liked to know what he meant by that, if it was just a general statement about love being just as confusing for humans as it must be for witchers or if the bard was talking about one of his own loves that grew to be complicated. But Jaskier kept the rest to himself and Geralt didn’t ask.

The bard then switched to quietly humming a song to himself and the two rode in not really complete, but still - somehow - blessed silence.


	5. a humble bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which jaskier sings and geralt can't sleep

Jaskier was in his element. Geralt watched him from the corner of the inn, where he sat at the table with a generous slice of - fortunately not fillingless - pie and a jug of ale.

“ _O fishmonger, o fishmonger_ ,” Jaskier sang, spinning around the inn with a huge smile plastered on his face.

He’d already played his songs about Geralt and switched to other, catchier and more dance-worthy tunes, and frankly the witcher was relieved to have the people’s attention diverted from him, content with sitting quietly in the corner and _well,_ not exactly brooding, as the night was passing quite pleasantly.

A faster part came in Jaskier’s song and many stood up to dance along, a lot of the inn’s guests clapping and cheering. The bard grinned. No, he positively beamed and Geralt found himself forgetting about his dinner.

The song was over and Jaskier bowed theatrically as he recieved both applause and coin.

“Thank you, thank you, you are all too kind!” He said, bowing once again. When he rose, his eyes met Geralt’s. And he must have seen the expression on his face before the witcher fixed his gaze on his plate, because his cheeks were suddenly rosy with blush and his blue eyes glimmered as he spoke to his audience. “It feels wonderful to be so loved!”

Having gathered enough coin to last for a couple of days, Jaskier set his lute on an empty seat by Geralt’s table and hopped down right next to the witcher, throwing his legs on the table.

Geralt didn’t react. He did use to wonder if such a little regard for personal space was a _human_ thing or a _Jaskier_ thing. After a while he’d come to realise it was the latter. This time he was even lucky, because the bard could have choosen his lap as better accomodation for his feet instead of the table.

“Oh, that was just _magnificient_! Don’t get me wrong, Geralt,” Jaskier was already rambling, voice stretched a bit after his performance and cheeks still red. “I do love singing in courts, those royal balls and bethrotals and coronations, all that, but this? No ballroom full of the Continent’s fairest ladies and finest noblemen could compare to this! Did you see how moved they were? How they danced?”

He leaned back and rocked his chair, motioning to the innkeeper for an ale.

“Absolutely enchanted, they were!” he continued as he took as sip from his drink, nodding to himself. “So I wonder, Geralt, were you as enchanted as well? Come on, tell me, what was it like? Three words or less, you know!”

Geralt grunted. He wasn’t about to boast Jaskier’s already unmeasurable ego but he couldn’t - and didn’t want to - insult his singing either after having admitted he thought it wasn’t bad.

So he settled for the truth.

“They seemed happy.” And then, another three words because he was feeling particularly generous. “You did too.”

Jaskier seemed shocked by his answer, flustered even. He spilled his ale and it was only thanks to sheer luck - or was it destiny having other plans for him? - that he didn’t fall over as his chair rocked too far back. He caught himself together quickly enough and leaned closer conspiratorily.

“Well, Geralt of Rivia,” he said in a mock-serious tone. “You did too.”

He chugged the rest of his drink as the guests gathered around started to demand another song.

“Just one last, bard!”

Jaskier stood up and took his lute.

“Alright, just the one. And that’s only because you are a simply wonderful audience,” he said and his words were greeted with cheering from everywhere in the room. He strummed his lute and began. “ _When a humble bard_ -”

He didn’t sing alone. The people knew all the words and Geralt wondered how something so simple as a song could have such an effect on people. He didn’t have much time to ponder over it, though.

The innkeeper’s daughter had shuffled to his table with her little brother behind her.

“It’s you, really, isn’t it? Who the song’s about,” she asked with wide eyes, tilting her head in Jaskier’s direction. “His witcher.”

Geralt hummed.

The little boy tugged his sister’s skirt so she looked down at him.

“You’re right,” she nodded to her brother before looking back up at Geralt. “Maybe it’s the other way around… Maybe he’s your bard, isn’t he?”

Geralt looked over at Jaskier who was just finishing with the last verses, with one feet up on a chair and that huge smile back on his face.

“It’s a little bit both,” Geralt told the children, quiet enough that no one else heard it.

-

Jaskier woke up in the middle of the night and he cursed the countless nights spent camping in the woods. Before that, he could have just slept through anything, completely unbothered. But over time he’d learned to listen to any possible threats that could surprise them at night, even if there was a big, mean-looking witcher with him.

Speaking of Geralt, it seemed like he was the one who’d woken Jaskier up. The bard looked over at his bed, trying to make out his figure in the darkness. Something felt wrong.

Geralt was tossing and turning under his sheets, his fists closed tight, his breath ragged and uneven. Something definitely was wrong.

Sometime after their first meeting Jaskier had Geralt shake him awake from a nightmare - a ridiculous, stupid one, but it’d upset him greatly - and that’d been when he asked Geralt if witchers had nightmares too.Geralt had said no but Jaskier learned later that it wasn’t true. Witchers had nightmares, or at least, Geralt did.

The bard sat up on the edge of his bed, contemplating what to do. There was a fair chance Geralt would be mad at him for thinking he couldn’t handle something as stupid as a nightmare. After all, nightmares weren’t real and Jaskier’d seen Geralt fight terrifying monsters that’d been very very real. On the other hand, he knew just how horrible some nightmares could get - he wasn’t sure he was ever going to forget the ones he used to get after the djinn incident. Jaskier winced at the memory and turned his thoughts back to Geralt.

The witcher hissed in his sleep, almost as if he was in pain and Jaskier made up his mind immediately.

He stood up, shuffling closer to the other’s bed.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, having arrived by his bedside. It seemed that wasn’t enough. The bard sighed and, putting all precaution aside, gently shook the witcher’s shoulder, calling his name again with a soft tone.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open and he sat up so quickly that Jaskier’s eyes barely registered him moving in the dark. With one hand, he was already reaching for the dagger he kept next to his bed when he noticed it was just the two of them in the room, no threat in sight.

“Hey, hey, Geralt, you’re up,” Jaskier said from the floor, where he fell after Geralt’s sudden movement had startled him. A wash of relief flooded over him when he saw the realisation in the witcher’s eyes and heard his breathing even. “Sorry for waking you up, I just thought… well, see, you looked like you were having quite an unpleasant dream…”

Geralt glared at him, then fell back on his pillow.

“I was,” he growled after a while, voice hoarse.

“Do you, um… do you want to tell me what it was about?” Jaskier offered, though he expected the answer.

“No.”

Jaskier scraped himself off the floor. He eyed the space on Geralt’s side in his bed for a while and then made his decision.

“Do you mind if I-” he started, lifting up the covers on Geralt’s bed and already climbing up next to him.

“What are you doing?” Geralt didn’t so much as turn in his direction.

“I’m cold,” lied Jaskier. Their room was quite cozy and warm. “You know, scrawny human, winter, middle of the night. Cold.”

“Hm,” was all Geralt said and Jaskier took it as a sign that he didn’t mind him being there.

He turned his face towards Geralt as he lay down, settling comfortably next to him, their figures not quite touching. The other man still didn’t turn to look at him, he just stared at the ceiling.

“Maybe try to sleep again?” Jaskier suggested. “I’ll be here, as look-out, and wake you up if something’s off.”

Geralt finally moved, slowly shifting his position to lie on his side and face Jaskier. He didn’t say anything, his eyes studying the bard as if he was trying to work out some great mystery that was written in Jaskier’s features.

“Or I could go! You know, back to my own bed, if you-” Jaskier offered hastily, suddenly realising just how close they were and wondering whether he’d stepped over some kind of line he hadn’t even known about before.

“No,” Geralt interrupted and he closed his eyes. “This is… nice.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Okay then. Alright. Nice.”

He found himself humming softly as he lay there in the dark, watching Geralt. The other had his eyes closed but Jaskier knew he wasn’t asleep yet so surely he would have told him to stop and get out of his bed if the humming or Jaskier’s proximity bothered him. But he didn’t say anything.

It was a new song, and not even Jaskier knew where exactly it was going but earlier that night he’d had the idea for one and his thoughts seemed to be cycling back to that. Jaskier had songs about many things, things that fascinated him or made him fall in love. But he never had a song about his love for singing, about the joy it brought him to see people captivated by his music, like today at the inn. Jaskier was humming, thinking about the people who’d danced and cheered as he sang and about Geralt, who’d looked at him strangely from behind his table and who’d noticed - and even gone as far as to remark - that he seemed happy.

And Jaskier was. He had been happy then and he was happy now, as he hummed his song silently and watched Geralt’s chest rise and fall slowly and steadily and his features soften as his witcher fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it goes, the final chapter, wrapping it up. if you liked it, let me know  
> find me on tumblr @afuckindelighttobearound

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title and all chapter titles come from jaskier's songs
> 
> -
> 
> find me on tumblr @afuckindelighttobearound and please toss a comment to your writer, i'd be very grateful


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